I live with my partner, our two cats, two 'ukuleles, guitars, and various other musical instruments,…
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I got myself all ready. It’s all planned out, from my suicide plan to my wake and funeral. I made my wake into a theatre piece for my loved ones. I’ve been working on this tirelessly and obsessively for over a week. . . . . Over many years. It’s just finalized now. I want to go to the hospital for one last chance, but I keep going to the hospital and winding up in the same place except always with new stressors and pain. I can’t believe he asked for a divorce. He was my reason to keep going. My last reason. I just don’t care about myself or anything else anymore and I need to rest. I’ve done my job. College, travel, grad school, marriage, acting, teaching, career. It was a beautiful time for a while. But that time has passed. And I’m “out of hand and out of season, out of love and out of feeling so bad.” I’m done.